


On the Mountainside

by tatterwitch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Camping, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mild Language, Minor Injuries, One Shot, Shameless Smut, Tent Sex, Wilderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:02:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatterwitch/pseuds/tatterwitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While on a Wendigo hunt, the reader ends up unable to make it back down the mountainside by nightfall. Dean volunteers to stay behind and keep them company. Unbeknownst to the reader, Dean may just have an ulterior motive... One shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Mountainside

The fire crackled merrily.

It's orange and gold flames flickered upward and spat sparks toward the sky. The smoke was just barely visible against the canopy of leaves, branches, and stars.

Wind rustled through the trees quietly as crickets sang. Every once in a while, an owl would hoot in the distance.

You sat with your back propped against a dry log. Your legs were stretched out in front of you, one swaddled with a make-shift brace of sticks and a shredded t-shirt. That ankle throbbed dully.

Of course you'd gone and been the one to get the worst injury. Really, the group of you had been lucky that a twisted ankle was the worst of the lot. Wendigos were incredibly dangerous and nasty. It all could've been much, much worse.

Sam had elected, reluctantly, to lead the victims down the mountain and into town before sunset. Dean had been the one to suggest the plan after it had become quite clear that you were not going to be able to get down the mountain that night.

Which, frankly, had caused you a bit of confusion. Dean had never seemed over-fond of your presence.

Hell, he really seemed to do everything in his power to keep you at an arm's length at all times. He was always staring at you when he thought that you weren't looking. But you could feel his eyes on you. You, on the other hand, had developed feelings toward the older Winchester pretty quickly. He was brave and smart and selfless. Sometimes, he was even funny.

It didn't exactly hurt any with his looks, either. Oh, yeah.

Those bright green eyes, sharp jaw, plush pink lips, solid build, and light hair had held a starring role in your wildest dreams ever since that first case.

You shifted, wincing when your ankle protested sharply. You must've made a noise because Dean glanced up from where he was cleaning a scratch on his arm.

His eyes were a deeper green in the darkness, reflecting the firelight. His brows wrinkled a little.

"Hey, Y/N, you okay over there?"

His voice was low, quiet compared to the volume he usually used around his brother. It was almost...soft.

You swallowed and nodded.

"Y-yeah. I'm fine. Just hard to get comfortable with this stupid thing, you know?" You pointed at your leg.

Dean made an assenting noise and returned to cleaning himself up. In a quick move, he had his overshirt on the ground and the back of his t-shirt in his hand. Another move and his chest was bared.

Your mouth went dry. _Holy shit_.

He was all tanned skin over honed strength; built solidly with a hint of softness around his belly. Even from your seat across from him, you could see the freckles that dusted his skin. Light hair trailed down from his navel in a barely noticeable line. But, boy, did that line give you ideas. The tattoo over his heart rippled with every move he made. Did he have any others? He certainly seemed like the type to have tattoos. His hair was spiked chaotically from sweat and his fingers. A few shallow scratches reddened the skin of his shoulder and arms. One faint line ran over his cheek. Dirt made patches of his skin brown and black.

Dean bent and rifled through the pack at his feet. He came up with a first-aid kit swathed within a plastic bag. He made a satisfied noise and cracked the thing open. He layed aside a few alcohol wipes, some bandaids, and a handful of pre-packaged wet-wipes. He lifted one of the paper packets and ripped it open. The white cloth flapped when he shook it out. Dirt, grime, and blood disappeared as he wiped the thing over his arms and chest.

You shook your head hard.

"Never seen you use band-aids before, Dean." Your voice was a little scratchy.

Dean glanced up briefly from his task, green eyes flashing before he wadded up the wipe and stuffed it into its paper packaging. He tugged his t-shirt back over his head much to your dismay- ah, relief.

"They're not for me. They're for you."

You blinked at that.

"Oh."

Dean grabbed up the stuff he'd laid out and stood up from his seat on a log. It took him only a few steps to get to your side. Then, he was crouching, folding himself onto the ground at your feet.

"Here," Dean tossed you a few wet-wipes. "You can clean up with those while I fix your ankle up."

"Um, okay." You certainly needed a good shower.

But those were few and far between up here in the wonderful wild. So wet-wipes were just going to have to cut it. Getting yourself clean, however, was going to take some finagling. And Dean would most certainly get a generous glimpse at what you had beneath your shirts.

There was no way you were taking your jeans off-

Dean glanced up then, fingers working at the knots in the shredded cloth around your leg.

"You're gonna have to get your jeans off so I can make this work."

Fuck. Of course.

At this point, what else could go wrong? You yanked down the zipper of your jeans and popped the button open. Planting one foot firmly on the ground, you lifted your hips and pushed the denim down. In the process, your ankle got knocked by your foot.

"Fuck!" You bit out, hands cranking into fists as you tried to blink away the sudden pain.

Dean's hands gently eased your jeans from your fingers.

"Whoa, there. Here, just, ah, hold real still." With a quick series of tugs and only minor jostling, he had your jeans off and folded haphazardly beside your hip. His hands paused, wrapped around your calves.

The firelight caught his silhouette, highlighting one side of his face while darkening the other. His lashes cast long shadows over one cheek as he blinked quickly.

"Ah, okay. You do that. I'll do this. We'll both work quick so you won't get cold, okay?"

The air was getting pretty cool. It was already markedly cooler than the day had been.

God, it'd been so damn hot all day. The sun had fairly burned in the sky. You would've thought that all those tree would've afforded some shade, but, nooo. Apparently not. Nope. You'd sweated and gotten all red-faced and huffy by the time you and the Winchesters had arrived at the wendigo's lair. More than getting all yucky, you hated the fact that Dean had seen you like that.

Vamp hunts, scouring barns and warehouses and taking off heads? Easy. Demons, traps and trickery and casual stabbing? Walk in the park. Witches, strategy and smarts and luck? Whatever. Climbing up a mountain in summer in full hunter's gear while tracking a literal bottomless pit of a cannibal? Decidedly sucked ass.

You shrugged off your flannel and grasped the hem of your tank-top. With a quick tug, cool mountain air tickled your bare skin. You freed a wet-wipe and began scrubbing every inch of skin you could as quickly as you could. About half-way through cleaning your left arm, you realized Dean had stopped working at your feet.

You glanced up self-consciously.

You weren't the run-of-the mill hunter-chick by most standards. Sure, you could shoot just about any gun with deadly accuracy, tie and un-tie knots that'd make a sailor curse, wield anything pointy decently, and had a knack for fist-fighting. But your body had never taken on that leaned, toned, slender form that was so common among female hunters. No. No matter how many werewolf-chases, block-long sprints, heavy-lifting, or dieting, you'd retained a certain amount of...softness. It really wasn't anything big. But it'd been enough that when you fell into bed with someone, they seemed...Surprised. Maybe even disappointed.

And that hurt. Dammit, it didn't make you any worse of a hunter or anything.

You shot a look at Dean. His lips were parted a tiny bit, teeth flashing white before his tongue crept out to swipe over his lower lip. His eyes roved over your exposed torso and legs; clad only in a cotton bra, panties, and the chain that held your anti-possession charms. As he looked, his eyelids drooped a little.

Unconsciously, you hunched your shoulders inward to try and hide yourself. You draped one arm over your chest and cleared your throat. Dean's gaze jumped to your face guiltily. If you didn't know better, you would have said that a tinge of pink colored the tops of his cheeks.

In no time, he had your ankle taped up. He worked quickly and efficiently. His hands were gentle and jarred your leg minimally. He seemed to take great care that he didn't cause you any hurt. You tugged your tank-top back on and reached for your flannel just as he sat back on his heels.

A pair of owls hooted; one close by and one farther off. A log in the fire thumped and cracked loudly, sending a shower of sparks skyward. Dean had been right. Sitting there in just your underwear and tank-top, it was pretty cold.

The tent seemed pretty darn inviting right then. You braced one palm on the log you were sat on and pushed to your feet. You teetered a little.

Dean's hands landed on your hips to steady you. They were warm, roughened at his fingertips and across the heels of his palms. The sensation wasn't all that unpleasant.

Green eyes flipped up to your's. His throat worked before he spoke.

"You good?"

"Um. Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

You took a shaky step, gingerly placing your weight on your ankle. It protested a bit, but not too badly.

Nonetheless, Dean hovered his hands over your hips until you were out of his reach. You unzipped the tent's flap and bent to duck inside. There came a muffled noise from behind you, almost like a stifled groan.

You shot a glance over your shoulder to see Dean scrubbing a hand over his mouth. He nodded jerkily at you.

"Go ahead. Get comfy. Only one sleeping bag, though, so we're gonna have to share for the night." His voice sounded a little hoarse.

"Oh. Okay."

"Just, ah, call or whatever when you're ready for me to come in."

"Sure thing," You zipped up the flap behind you and reached for the lantern by the door.

The thing flipped on easily and cast a small circle of blue-white light around the interior of the tent. You dropped to your knees and bit at your lips.

No pajamas, those were down in the Impala's trunk in your duffel bag. And unless you really wanted to put your dirty, bloody jeans back on, you'd have to sleep in what you were wearing. The thought of sleeping next to Dean in only your panties and a tank-top had your belly doing flips.

You unclasped your bra and slipped out of it beneath your shirt. The cotton material was folded and placed by the entrance of the tent for the morning. With a bit of wiggling, you got underneath the sleeping bag.

Dean had rolled out the mats and shoved them together; creating a makeshift mattress of sorts. He'd then unrolled the sleeping bag completely and thrown it over the arrangement like a quilt. It was rather clever, you had to admit.

You drew the sleeping bag up to cover your chest and called out to Dean. His boots crunched in the dirt and leaf litter before the tent's zipper eased open with a hiss. His head poked in.

"Everybody decent?"

You rolled your eyes.

"C'mon, Dean. You're letting all the colder air in."

It was true. The breeze had picked up and made your skin prick with goosebumps.

He toed off his boots and ducked inside. The zipper was drawn up and then he was on his knees. God, no one should have looked that good on their knees.

He pulled his t-shirt over his head again. His hands dipped to the fly of his jeans before you had the presence of mind for words. Dean usually slept with the majority of his clothes on during hunts. He only stripped down at the bunker, and even then, it was only to a t-shirt and boxers.

"Um, Dean, whatcha doin'?" You asked, unable to drag your eyes away as the halves of his fly parted and he started pushing his jeans down his hips.

"Gettin' comfy." He kicked his jeans off before folding them neatly and tossing them beside the door.

"There ain't nothin' but critters out there."

"How would you know?"

At the mere thought of more monsters creeping around the mountain, the need to dress again was almost overwhelming. You were distracted, however, with the view of Dean in boxers. You had to press your thighs together tightly for a minute and blank your mind to catch his words.

"Me an' Sammy have been at this whole thing awhile. We know what sounds, smells, tracks are what. Trust me. Ain't nothin' out there that'll bother us."

"Oh," You bit your lip.

Dean lifted up the other edge of the sleeping bag and slid in beside you. He settled in, hunting knife and gun by his head by force of habit.

Suddenly, warm skin pressed up against your thigh. You jumped a little, fingers clenching around the fabric of the sleeping bag. Dean shot you a bemused look as he pillowed his head on his arm.

"You gonna sleep sitting up or you gonna join me down here?"

God, the man could recite the phone book and make it sound like an x-rated novel. You'd bet money on it.

"Y/N," The sound of your name on his lips had little shivers running down your spine.

Flushing, you eased down and curled at the very edge of the mats farthest from him. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel just how soft you were. Even if your fingers itched to run over every inch of that tanned, freckled skin of his.

Green eyes glinting in the light of the lantern flipped over to you. They rolled before his arms reached over and hands pressed into your back. Unceremoniously, you were pulled into his chest.

You let out a very undignified squeaking noise.

"Dean!"

"Gonna get mighty cold sleeping all the way over there. We'll stay warmer if we're closer."

You were tense against him, afraid to relax even a little bit.

Several minutes passed by in relative silence.

Crickets sang and the wind rustled the leaves. Branches creaked with muffled whistles and groans. An owl hooted once. The fire outside flickered still, tongue of orange and red casting long shadows over the walls of the tent. The wood popped every now and then.

Dean's breathing was slow and even by your ear. His breath ruffled the hair at your temples.

Then, a new sound broke the soothing quiet.

A long, lonesome series of yips that echoed over the mountainside.

You stiffened even more, jerking half-upright before one of Dean's arms lifted and landed over your side.

"Calm down. It's just a coyote."

"How do you know?" You snapped, feeling embarrassed.

"Just do. Wolves howl. Werewolves snarl. Coyotes yip. You're safe, okay. Relax." One broad hand flattened over your back, warm and heavy.

You laid your head back down and took a shaky breath.

Another sound, this one eerie and sorrowful had your head twisting around to see where the monster was.

Dean sighed, hand gently leading you back down.

"That's a loon, Y/N. Just a water-bird. Loosen up."

You tried to relax, you really did. But being pressed into Dean Winchester's long, solid, warm body as one of his hands rested on your spine and his mouth lay only inches away from your own made it all a little difficult.

After a few moments of tense silence, Dean sighed loudly.

"Y/N, you need to relax. It's like cuddling with a wooden board."

You blushed, heat creeping up your neck and into the tips of your ears. Was that what you and he were doing? Cuddling? What did that mean? Thousands of different scenarios suddenly ran rampant in your mind. Each one was hotter and dirtier than the last.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as you tried to blank your mind and get enough space between the two of you so you could stop sucking in your tummy. But when you gained a few inches of space, Dean glanced down, a tiny frown pulling the corners of his lips down.

"Where d'you think you're going?"

You froze, eyes flicking up to his. The lantern light was dim, barely lighting up the interior of the tent. But it was enough to see him. Stubble darkened his jaw, a shadow that emphasized the delicious angle there. His lips parted a tiny bit. His eyes were darker, the pupils blown wide within a thin ring of green. His hair was still mussed, looking like, for all the world, that he'd had a set of fingers running through it.

You swallowed and blinked quickly.

"I, ah. Um," _Great work_. You sounded like an idiot.

With a tightening of his arm, Dean tugged you back into his side.

"I like you just where you are." His voice had dropped an octave, becoming huskier.

Your hands curled up against his chest as he shifted to face you comfortably. His face was so, so close. His breath tickled your cheeks. That hand on your back drifted up and down in lazy strokes.

"I like having you this close."

His roving hand was warm through your tank-top's material. You felt yourself relax against him as he rubbed your back and shoulders.

"I like feeling just how warm and soft you are."

You gasped, fingers pressing against the bare skin of his chest.

"Dean!"

He grinned crookedly, hand catching on the strap of your top and easing over your shoulder.

"That's right. You've had me thinkin' about you from that first hunt. Tonight, though, was when I realized this thing goes both ways."

Dean thought you were attractive? _Dean_. Dean Winchester had the hots for you? Were you dreaming? You had to be dreaming.

"H-how come you never said anything? Did anything?" You whispered, distracted by the way his fingers were drifting dangerously close to the edge of your panties.

Dean had the decency to look a little chagrined. His lashes feathered down and his shoulders lifted in a half-shrug.

"Didn't wanna make any moves until I knew you were into me. Coulda made our whole dynamic a little awkward, ya know?"

You hummed an assent.

"True. But, um," You were thankful for the dim lighting abruptly. You were blushing enough to have been red-faced.

"I've had a thing for you for a while, too."

That seemed to perk Dean right up. His eyes lifted and a half-grin lifted one corner of his lips.

"Oh, yeah?"

You shyly flattened your palms against his skin. His chest swelled with a deep breath before he chuckled. It was a pleasing sound that made your belly do flips. You tilted your chin up, struck at once by the insane need to kiss him. The hand on your back climbed, coming to rest at the nape of your neck. His fingers eased into your hair. You swallowed reflexively.

"Yeah."

Dean slowly bent his head until his mouth was only a breath away.

Those green eyes stared into your's, as if daring you to make the first move.

So you did.

Your lips pressed against his. And, God, they were every bit as soft as they looked. It wasn't long before the gentle presses transformed into something hotter. Dean's mouth opened beneath your's and then he was licking his way into your own.

His hand slid under the edge of your tank-top. Your palms ran over the skin of his chest; peppered with divets and ridges of scars from hunts. When your fingertips grazed one of his nipples, he groaned into your mouth.

Oh, _hell_ , that was _hot_.

Dean caught your lower lip between his teeth gently and gave it a suck. It was your turn to gasp out. And that was before he started inching the hem of your tank-top higher...and higher, and higher.

The sounds of your breathing were louder than those from outside. All you could concentrate on was the feel of his skin beneath your hands; the way his muscles flexed and rippled. The way he hummed whenever you found a sweet spot of his. The way his lips meshed with your's so perfectly, tongue and teeth and lips driving your need higher. His hands spanned your spine, your ribs, your belly, hips, and thighs. The roughened skin of his fingertips and palms added to the sensation of his touches.

It couldn't have gotten any better than all that. But then he had to go and prove you wrong.

Dean caught one of your thighs in his hand and hitched it over his hip. One of his legs situated itself between your's. Heat, blessed friction, and bliss made you moan as his thigh butted up against your sex.

You broke away from the kiss to gasp in air as he began lazily rocking his leg between your own. One of your hands wrapped around his bicep tightly, the other rose, fingers carding through the hair at the back of his head.

Stars, you were seeing stars.

Everything was so, _so good_.

Dean's breath came out in heavy pants between kisses and against your hair. His hands never ceased their roaming; cupping your ass to draw you tighter against him, trailing up your back and then down, climbing your ribs to sneak beneath your rucked-up shirt and palm your breasts.

With the stronger, slower rocks of his hips, you could feel his cock through the thin material of his boxers. He was hard and hot and the simple thought that it'd been you to make him so had you gasping his name as you came apart.

Unlike any orgasm you'd ever had before, this one did not leave you feeling limp and sated. No. A strange sort of hunger, of want settled in your core. You wanted, _needed_ him.

Dean seemed to realize this just as soon as you began pushing at your soaked panties impatiently. With a groan, he helped you; hands catching at the cotton cloth and tossing it toward the tent's flap. Then, you tugged your top over your head.

Dean had shucked his boxers at some point. When your hip brushed against his, there was no more resistant fabric in the way of his skin.

Struck by some indecent thought and more than a little lust, you dipped your hand beneath the sleeping bag and traced your fingers down the center of his chest. His belly hollowed underneath your touch. His hands settled over your hips and with a quick move, he lifted you easily.

You squeaked, jolt of pain from your ankle making you wince. Dean noticed and ran his hands over you.

"Hey, you okay? I didn't mean to hurt you, Y/N. I'm sorry. We can stop-"

The pain was already fading, want replacing the dull needles with wanton warmth.

To silence him, you wrapped your palm around his cock and squeezed boldly.

Dean's words cut off with a wrecked groan. His head jerked back and you watched the line of his throat work. His hands on your hips tightened. You took that as encouragement to continue. Base to tip, you stroked him, thumbing the slit when a bead of pre-come seeped out. His hips jerked at that before he stilled himself. That self-control didn't last too long, though.

When you tightened your grip and sped your strokes, Dean fairly started thrusting into your fist.

"Oh, holy shit, _Y/N, baby_." Dean sounded utterly wrecked, voice practically a growl. "Need you. _Need to feel you. Please._ "

You leaned up, finally releasing your hold on his cock.

He groaned in disappointment, hips trying to follow your hand.

"Do you have-"

"Jeans. Back pocket. Inside my wallet."

With some rummaging on your part, you managed to flip the old leather open and pull free a foil packet.

Dean snatched the thing from your hands and ripped it open with his teeth. In a quick, practiced movement, he rolled the condom over his length.

Dean gripped your hips as you positioned yourself over his cock. He slipped against your entrance, causing the two of you to make twin noises of pleasure.

Slowly, slowly, you eased down. Your teeth sank into your lower lip as he filled you inch by glorious inch. You weren't really used to being on top, but with Dean, you were willing to do just about anything. And from the look on his face, he really liked what he saw.

Boy, that did absolute wonders for your confidence. Seeing Dean look at you like you were the hottest thing to ever walk the earth was like having sunshine injected directly into your veins. It lit you up, made your skin burn and your insides warm.

When he finally bottomed out, he let out a stifled groan. You closed your eyes, taking a moment to savor the feeling of having him beneath you, inside of you. Surely nothing had ever felt this good.

Hesitantly, you stirred your hips.

Dean's breath punched out, fingers digging into your hips.

You lifted yourself a little and slid back down. Dean's head kicked back as he made a choked noise of pleasure.

With a bit of adjustments and some trial and error, you found a pace that made the two of you hum and moan.

Gradually, you added some tweaks to your movements; rotating your hips on the way down or up, grinding against him, rocking a little. Each new move had differing effects. But all of them seemed to drive Dean absolutely wild.

You knew when Dean reached the point of no return. His eyes glazed over, passion-hazed and half-lidded. He alternated between clenching his jaw shut and huffing breaths through parted lips. One hand left your hips to cup your breast and tweak your nipple. And then, both hands had grabbed your ass and his hips had started up with a rhythm of their own.

He bucked up as you sank down, hitting some spot inside of you that made your nerve positively sing.

Your hands smacked down over his chest, fingers curling against his skin.

God, he felt _beyond_ amazing.

And almost as good as the feelings were the sounds he made. Long groans and heavy gasps, huffs of air that punched out of him.

His rhythm became disjointed, one of his hands flattened over your lower belly. His thumb pressed against the top of your sex, rubbing over your clitoris.

Your nails dug into his chest as you cried out, thighs tightening around his sides.

Dean shouted hoarsely, hips bucking as he shuddered. his head kicked back, exposing the line of his throat. His body pulled taught, muscles cut in sharp relief as he groaned.

You fell limp over his chest, cheek resting over the wild beating of his heart. He rolled, slipping free and taking care of the condom before tucking you against his chest again.

His hand started up those lazy strokes over your back once more.

"Told you I had a thing for you," Dean's grin was crooked and all male-satisfaction as he glanced down at you.


End file.
